Shades of London Oneshots
by shadesoflondon
Summary: Oneshots of Rory and the squad! Works are primarily Story. (StephenxRory)


**A/N: I'm going to attempt to make all of these chronological! (Emphasis on attempt lol) Sorry if the writing is splotchy, I haven't written fiction in a while. I also wrote about 90% of this at night, so that could be another reason it isn't the best. I tried to write without addressing the books' storyline as well, but I just couldn't do it.**

 **Based on the headcanons:** _Stephen is a geek who gives Rory lots of gold jewelry, because on the periodic table, the chemical symbol for gold is Au. It's a private joke of his, and Rory has no idea why he looks subtly amused whenever he gives her jewelry._ **And:** _Rory figures out that it's likely that no one gave Stephen a Saint Michael's medallion after he "only technically" became a Police Officer, so she drops everything to secretly buy one and give it to him as a gift._

 **Thank you to Stacy Stephson for the headcanons, and for pushing me to write this. More chapters should be coming soon! Sorry if this chapter is more angsty than you imagined it would be. The next one should be much lighter. Enjoy :)**

 **(P.S. - I may or may not have a bigger, seperate story in the works)**

There was something about the way snow fell that reminded me of dandruff. It comes down either slowly or all at one once, but either way, is annoying. The more there is, the more expensive the tools you'll need to clear it all out. It's just a bad situation all around.

Maybe it's because I'm from Louisiana? Winter there calls for tee shirts and shorts one day, and triple layered coats the next. My grandma would actually wear these heavy fur things that she got from garage sales. If it wasn't too cold out, she wore nothing _but_ a coat. She named them too: Mark, Stan, Phil, Richard⎯ I don't remember the rest, but I'm about ninety percent sure that they're all named after ex-boyfriends. She would have them pet, trimmed, and dry-cleaned; the real deal.

As much as I love my grandma, there was just something magical about Christmas in England. Dandruff aside, it was like a movie. One that felt similar to a BBC X-Files knockoff. You take what you can get, I suppose.

I sneezed. Icy grass crunched under my feet. I could feel the cold seep into my shoes, making my toes feel like little popsicles. If Stephen didn't show up soon, I might end up completely frozen.

I frowned, and considering calling him. That probably wouldn't go down well. Stephen had been tense the past few days, but I honestly couldn't blame him. He died a week ago, and as far as I know, that's about one of the worst things that can happen to a person. We had also heard nothing about Sid or Sadie, and everyone in the squad was a bit on edge.

A man, the only other soul on the street, shuffled into a coffee parlor. He waved through the window. Without much else to do, I waved back. No need to be unfriendly. From where I was standing, it looked pretty inviting in there. I could make out yellow walls and cheerful paintings of cheerful Parisians, which seemed much more comfortable than the frozen grass and dead courtyard I stood in. Man, was I dying to take my gloves off.

Just as I was about to cross over to the shop, a police car pulled around the corner. I sighed and readjusted the gloves on my frozen carrot fingers. The car slowed to a stop, and I jogged over. The handle felt like ice. I pulled it, glanced back up at the coffee parlor, and climbed in. An anxious looking Stephen sat in the driver's seat.

"Sorry," he said, shifting the car into drive. "Christmas Eve traffic and such."

I made a noise of acknowledgement. We pulled off and away from the gray courtyard, and I attempted to leave my memory of the last hour with it. Thorpe had arranged for me to speak with a few people about creating a new identity, which apparently meant a small room in an unused building and a lot of personal questions. Not that I minded the questions⎯ I was good at those. I just didn't see the point of an unused building. Stephen didn't either. He didn't say so, but I could tell that he was annoyed about having to drive through so much traffic.

"How was the meeting?" he asked.

I closed my eyes, trying to fight off an oncoming headache.

"Good. Tiring. They asked a lot of questions."

"As expected."

"They didn't have to have to pick such a small room," I said. " The whole building was empty."

He nodded at this. I leaned back in my seat and cranked the heat up. Stephen eyed the knobs, and I almost dared him to say something. It was most certainly below freezing outside. I looked over at him. Amazingly, he wore nothing but a sweater and scarf. This must be the expected English December. In Benouville, we would've already had our annual Yeti Day. That is when, basically, my neighbor Billy Mack dresses up in a big paper mache Yeti costume and steals everyone's unused plastic flower pots. Now I've never actually seen him in action, but all of our flower pots are gone the morning after, just as promised. I have no idea how this tradition started. It's weird by even my standards. Our new Home N' Deck actually holds a big sale for the occasion, and people rush in to buy flower pots. No one knows where they go afterwards, and no one asks. I suppose that would ruin the magic.

We pulled up to the flat a few minutes later. It had actually started to snow. Climbing out of the car, I couldn't believe that someone saw cold, empty London and actually thought: _oh hey, this looks like a fine place to_ _live._ People are stupid.

Stephen walked briskly to the door. In a quick motion, he unlocked it, and pushed it open for me enter. I headed straight for the bedroom. The upstairs was completely dark. Pushing open the bedroom door, I saw that Boo was already flopped across the sheets and snoring like a car motor. I lied down next to her and closed my eyes. Sounds carried from downstairs, and I could make out the distinct voices of Stephen and Callum. Hoping to dream of home, I fell asleep.

Someone was poking my face. Losing grip on my dream⎯ something about cheesecake⎯ I swatted the hand away. But they were relentless. Within seconds the hand had traveled dangerously close to my armpit, and that was unexceptable. I opened my eyes to see Freddie, looking the most excited I've seen her⎯

"Christmas!" she said, as if that explained the poking. "Christmas morning!"

I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "Yeah."

Freddie vibrated. Her head looked red like a balloon. I kind of wondered if it'd pop.

"You seem excited," I said.

"Yes. I am. Do you celebrate?"

"Kind of?"

She blinked at me. I blinked back. I ran a hand through my hair, attempting to flatten the sideways poof that had formed. She reached for my arm and yanked me out of the bed. Boo was nowhere to be seen, and I assumed that she was already downstairs. We shuffled down the hallway, and could hear the sound of Callum laughing from another room. This seemed to excite Freddie even more. As I made my way down the steps, I did a quick survey of voices. I needed to get Stephen alone. That sounded weird, I know it did, but there was something I had to give him. I was tired this year, that was for sure, but that didn't keep me from getting gifts. I actually had a reputation in Benouville for that. One year our local Kroger flooded, but I still managed to get all of my friends chocolate. That wasn't one of my wild stories, but it was one that I held with a weird sort of pride.

I, of course, did not get Stephen chocolate. That would be a different sort of weird.

We made our way through the plain living area and into the kitchen. There was a large congregation of people around the little IKEA table. It took me a moment to spot Stephen, and another moment to realize that the red stuff that they were drinking probably wasn't cranberry juice.

They were drinking wine. For _breakfast_. Like Granny Deveaux does, except without a spray tan. I had fond memories of Jazza and I getting drunk on cheap red wine, but in the squad's hands, it just seemed wrong. Maybe I missed Wexford more than I thought.

Calling me over, Boo shoved a clear plastic cup in my hand.

"Here," Boo said. "It's a Merlot. The good stuff."

Stephen leaned on the counter. He glanced at the wine, and then at the bottle.

"I don't believe that's right."

Boo shrugged and poured more into her cup. "Whatever. It was bloody expensive, I'll call it what I want."

Freddie made a jump for the bottle, but Callum got to it first. It had only been a week, but the two of them had become as close as siblings. It was sweet and annoying all at the same time. Like puppies. I turned away, hoping Boo would deal with them. Stephen watched me set my untouched cup down.

"Hey," I said to him. "There's something I need to show you." He frowned and set his cup beside mine.

"It's not something bad, I hope?"

"No." I fiddled with the hem my shirt. "Come on."

We walked into the living room. (If it could be called that- it was only a couch, coffee table, and uncomfortable looking chair. A Thorpe-chair.) I led him to the stairs, and his look of concern turned into one of confusion.

"It's upstairs?"

"Yes," I said, tugging on his arm. He froze, but it was weird. Slow.

"Earth to Stephen."

"I'm here. Give me a moment." He pulled away from me, and disappeared into the little entryway. He appeared a moment later. There was something in his hands, and he shook it a bit sheepishly.

"Lead the way," Stephen said.

I nodded and led him to the bedroom. That sounded suggestive. It was not. Once inside, he shut the door gently behind us.

"Everything is alright?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah. I wanted to give you something? A Christmas gift."

"Oh." Stephen looked unable to process that. He started towards the window, then stopped abruptly, turning to look at me. His face was soft. Or at least as soft as it could get.

"I didn't realize you would get me something," he said.

I walked to where I had placed the gift on the nightstand. It was in a small black box, one that reminded me greatly of Stephen and rain and police cars. He glanced between my face and the thing in my hands. I offered it to him.

He walked over to me slowly, agonizingly so, and took it. I really hoped he liked it. A lot of time had gone into learning about, finding it. What would a young police officer like? What would _Stephen_ like?

He placed a the thing in his hands, a blue box, on a stack of books that sat on the nightstand. I watched him bite his lip.

"I got you something too," he said, nodding to box he had just set down. I moved so that we were only a foot apart.

"Oh, you. Always a gentleman."

He snorted in reply. I could see a mix of emotions on his face, and they all brought me back to a time I wished to never think of. I would never forget the way he looked while dead, or the feeling of unbearable sadness that came with losing him. Stephen was strong. He didn't let his weaknesses show. But I knew that the past few weeks had changed him, and I wasn't yet sure if it was for the better. As he looked down at the gift, I found myself hoping so.

He opened the black box, and for a moment, things didn't seem so broken.

His eyes widened⎯ wide, like I had stuck a severed head inside. This was different in the fact that when he looked down at me, he smiled. It was a slow smile, but it grew into something raw and genuine. I felt something in my chest crack.

The hours of research, searching, and phone calls had all been worth it. I would do anything to see that smile. He sat down on the bed and lifted the object gingerly out of the box, glancing up at me as he did so.

"I would ask you how you knew," he paused. "But it suppose that would be impossible."

I blinked, and plopped down at the end of the bed.

"How I knew?"

"Your gift and I have a history."

"Oh. That sounds concerning."

He sniffed, adjusting his glasses.

"When I was around nine or ten," he said, "I met a police officer for the first time. I don't recall exactly where, or exactly how, but I do remember the medallion he showed me." Stephen held his palm towards the window, and the light reflected off of the silver badge cupped inside.

"The officer told me that he saved a man's life, and in gratitude, the man gave him a medallion just like this. One of St. Michael, made to protect a protector. He told me that the medallion was the reason why he loved his job. That it wasn't the reward or gratitude, but the fact that he could help someone every day and call it work. I think that was the moment I knew I was meant for this job." He blinked. "This badge was the start of it all for me. It's everything I am."

The matter-of-factness in his voice made me shiver. I placed my hand on his, covering the exposed silver.

"Stephen, this isn't everything you are. But it's well deserved."

I moved so that I sat completely facing him. His eyes scanned my face, and I imagined he was trying to read me. Pulling away, he cleared his throat.

"My gift seems insignificant in comparison," he said. "But I suppose it's still nice." He picked up the small blue box. It was about how I imagined a flat takeout box would look, and I couldn't begin to guess what was in it. Maybe a miniature severed head.

He passed it to me, and I took it in my hands. It didn't feel heavy. Slowly, I lifted the top.

Inside sat a necklace, small and made of golden leaves. There was a gap in the front of the chain, and I realized that the whole thing was made to look like a laurel.

No one had ever gotten me jewelry before. Not knowing quite what to say, I smiled up at him. He smiled back faintly.

"It's gorgeous."

He smiled a little more at that.

"You don't seem like the type of person to wear jewelry, but it was gold. I saw an opportunity and I took it."

'"Stephen," I said mildly, "you know that I have no I idea what you're talking about." His smile didn't waver. "Plus," I went on, "I _will_ wear this. Every day. Just to spite you." He raised his eyebrows.

"I'll remember to be offended."

"Good."

I took the necklace out of the box. The clasp was small, too small for me to refasten without embarrassing myself. If I asked, Stephen would probably help me put the necklace on. I looked up at him. He watched me with an expression that I could only describe as _content_. Somewhere halfway between happy and sad.

"The clasp is small. Could you…?" I trailed off. He seemed to get what I meant though, because something in his expression changed. Guarded itself? He all of a sudden seemed very serious. Maybe having him do this was a terrible idea; I couldn't even think about us touching without feeling the urge to kiss him.

"Yeah," he said casually. "Of course."

I placed the chain in his hand. He unclasped it and leaned forward. The light from the window caught on his sweater, making the blue and white Eton colors look golden. His eyes⎯ I had never really paid attention them⎯ were a gray so dark they looked black. They were tired, too, and at that moment I wanted nothing more than to be the one who changed that. I also wanted to understand why that thought made me so sad.

I turned my back to him. He brushed the hair around my neck away, which to be honest, wasn't much. The feel of his fingers still made me nervous, and a part of me hoped he would just finish and pull away. He looped the necklace around my neck. I heard him exhale, and just like that, it was done.

"Thanks," I said. Stephen stared at me for a moment too long before smiling. It was a thin smile too, only lip, and obviously forced. "Are you… okay?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yes. No. Yes. I think I feel a bit of a headache coming on, to be perfectly honest."

I felt a flash of irrational panic. This must have shown on my face, because his frown got deeper.

"Are _you_ alright?" He asked. I opened my mouth to answer. It took a moment to find the right words.

"I⎯ " I shook my head. "Headache. You said you had a headache. It's fine, I just… overreacted." He just stared at me, perplexed. I could feel my usual state of awkwardness descend to a deeper level.

"Right," he said rubbing his forehead. I needed to backtrack.

"That was what you said the night you died. You had a headache," I explained. I hoped this didn't get any worse. We didn't really address the fact that he actually _died_ , and I had never felt the overwhelming urge to bring it up. Instead of frowning at me, Stephen only blinked.

"Oh."

He reached for my hand, but stopped short. I felt like someone had slimed me with adrenaline. The muscles in his jaw worked, and I watched them to keep myself from doing something stupid. He looked down at his medal. Without hesitating this time, he took my hand. His was warm, alive, and I couldn't help but shiver.

"I'm fine," he said reassuringly. I placed my other hand on top of his. He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. Our eyes met, and I knew for an absolute fact that I was going to do something stupid.

I placed my hand on his cheek. He looked into my face as I looked at my hand, trailing it along his jaw. He had a little bit of stubble. Why was it, again, that things had to be so complicated? Maybe they didn't have to be. Maybe I could just kiss him; maybe that would make everything okay. Logical Rory didn't agree with this idea, but I wasn't Logical Rory right now. My hand was on his face, and he was looking at my lips, and I was leaning in⎯

Someone opened the door. We sprung apart, and Freddie walked in.

"We," she slurred, "are _out of wine_."

I looked to Stephen. He appeared a little shaken, but Freddie didn't notice.

"I'm gonna go," she gestured with the empty bottle. "Callum's in the toilet⎯ I'm gonna go get more." This for some reason sprang Stephen into action. He stood, and offered me a hand. I took it.

"Freddie, _look at yourself_ ," he said. "You're a little too intoxicated to drive right now." Freddie just stood there, staring at him. She nodded. It would've been funny, except for the fact that I could've just kissed Stephen. I sighed. Stephen shot me a look, and I waved everyone out of the room. He stood there a bit longer before complying.

I watched him walk down the hall. Freddie had already made it down the stairs, so his tall shadow was the only one visible. Stephen paused a moment, before descending, and glanced back at me. He smiled a little. I looked down to see what had caught his attention, and realized that I was clutching my necklace. When I moved to smile back at him, he had already gone down the stairs.


End file.
